"Not a bit of it. What he would have done had I been living here with a wife instead of a daughter, I can't say. But the fact is, he seems inclined to admire Miriam." The old man sat staring at Gerald with a twinkle in his eye, as he finished speaking. Gerald was at a loss to know in what way it was expected that he should greet such an item of news. So he merely fell back on a safe, though unmeaning, "Oh, indeed!" Miriam, gazing into the fire, either had not heard, or did not heed, her father's words. "For the sort of ursa major that he is," resumed Byrne, "he doesn't conduct himself so much amiss. Has not been much used to ladies' society, I should say. Does not talk much, but likes to look and listen." "Then you have had him in here!" said Gerald, with surprise. "Yes, twice. There's the magnet"--pointing to Miriam. "It isn't me, bless you, not me," added the old man, with a chuckle, as he proceeded to poke the fire vigorously. To say that Gerald was mystified is to say no more than the truth. But it was evident that whatever Byrne might have to tell him with regard to his plans and purposes, he was not inclined to tell yet, and Gerald would not question him. "Does Mr. Van Duren keep up a large establishment?" he said. "No: a small one. Everything on a miserly scale. Every item of expenditure cut down to the lowest possible point." "Perhaps he is poor." "Poor! my dear sir. Tcha! When did you ever know a money-lender to be poor?" "But I did not know that Van Duren was a money-lender." "That's what he is: neither more nor less." "Then, in that case, he must be a man of capital?" "Certainly, to some extent. But you never know how the webs of such spiders as he interlace and cross each other. Perhaps he is only used as a decoy to catch foolish flies for bigger and older spiders than himself. But, in any case, you may be sure that he comes in for a good share of the plunder." "From what you have said, I presume that he is unmarried?" "There are no signs of a wife under this roof," said Byrne. "Besides himself, there is, in the office, first, his clerk, Pringle--a drunken, disreputable old vagabond enough, from what I have seen of him; and secondly, a youth of fifteen, to copy letters and run errands, and so on. Then, downstairs, in a dungeon below the level of the street, we have Bakewell and his wife, as custodians of the premises and personal attendants on Van Duren--a harmless, ignorant couple enough. These, with Miriam and myself, make up the sum total of the establishment. Pringle and the boy, I may add, do not sleep on the premises." "Are you acquainted with Mr. Van Duren?" asked Miriam, suddenly lifting her eyes from the fire. "I have not that honour," said Gerald, drily.